To Love a Ninja
by Zayz
Summary: T/Z. What does it feel like to love her and know without a strand of doubt, just for a moment, that yes, she loves him too, and yes, this gratifying physical implosion is exactly what she wants?


A/N: This is a little fic-let tag to 8.09, Enemies Domestic that I found sitting on my hard-drive this evening. It's meant to take place after Eli David leaves NCIS and the rest of the team returns to their desks. We are going to pretend 8.10 (and beyond) never happened.

Enjoy…

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**To Love a Ninja  
By: Zayz**

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The elevator containing Eli David closes its doors and descends to the lower floors of NCIS, leaving Ziva at her desk and the rest of the team arriving at theirs, chatting amongst themselves. As he walks by her station, Tony notices that for a fleeting moment, Ziva's face is tender, her jaw trembling a little, her eyes suspiciously shiny under the glaring office tube light.

The moment passes quickly – Ziva's attention is diverted to her computer, immersed in typing something – but he saw it, he knows he saw it. He knows he saw a glimpse of vulnerability so raw it almost didn't belong on her face.

He finds himself staring at her for several minutes, trying to reclaim the lost snatch of time, the bit of Ziva she has now stowed deep wherever inside of her she keeps her humanity. But of course he doesn't get any help with this, because Ziva is back to herself, back to work, to whatever she must get done so urgently this minute, this second.

Staring at Ziva isn't exactly a new past-time for Tony – she's his partner, and she has worked three feet away from him everyday for the past five years, so it's perfectly _natural _for his eye to wander to the part of the room she occupies – but it's the subject of the thoughts running through his head as he stares at her that is of interest.

Sometimes – like today – he stares to decipher her, to decode what goes on behind her pretty face in his clumsy way. Other times, it's simply to appreciate her aesthetic value – the foreign skin tone, the dark eyes, her slender neck and the way her posture is too elegant for an office.

But sometimes, he just looks at her, stares at her, and wonders who exactly this woman is.

She must have been little once, must have stumbled through her first steps and said her first word and played catch with someone – her father, her brother – and yet he cannot imagine her without her signature ninja moves, whether they are physical or verbal.

She must have been taught once, how to run, jump, ride a bicycle – or slit someone's throat – and she must shop for clothes and groceries, must do mundane human tasks like laundry or paying bills, must shave her legs and lie back in bed, thinking about her day and the people in it.

But when he just looks at her, he can't picture any of that.

He sees her everyday on a job that is fraught with suspicion, danger, quick movements and quick words and not much down-time. Sure, they smile, and sure, they joke, and sure, he has seen – even inspired – her laugh, but the danger is a greedy anvil dangling over their heads like a storm cloud, and the woman who combats danger seems to have eclipsed the rest of her until he doesn't know her anymore.

And that's the thing: watching her as he sometimes does, the two of them unexpectedly unguarded, he realizes he wants to know her.

What does it feel like, he wonders idly, to be someone who matters to her more than a co-worker? What does it feel like to hug her without thought, without wondering if she'll snap his neck from behind; what does it feel like to have her reciprocate the hug, as though he belongs with her?

What does it feel like to run his thumb over her lip and then kiss her, the pliancy of her mouth against the hard edges of her teeth, the pliancy of her affection against the hard edges of her intuition?

What does it feel like to love her and know without a strand of doubt, just for a moment, that yes, she loves him too, and yes, this gratifying physical implosion is exactly what she wants?

Tony wonders these things, as Ziva announces she is leaving work and bundles up to combat the night cold, and he gives her a parting smile that reveals nothing. He wonders what it's like to try something with her. Just the once; just because he's curious, curious like the kid who gazes with longing at the cold telephone pole and wants to put his tongue to it, figure out the relationship between reality and expectation.

They have worked together so long, trusted each other for so long, that yes, his thoughts go here sometimes. They go to what life would be like if he ever dared to love a ninja – if the ninja ever loved him back.

But it's late now and he wants to go home too, so he turns off his computer and says good-bye to McGee and retreats into his coat, since it's cold outside and he needs all the insulation he can get. He heads out to the elevator and rides down to the parking garage where he hopes he doesn't freeze before he reaches his car.

On his way, he happens to see Ziva walking just a few feet in front of him, head down against the weather. He half-considers letting her continue on without interrupting her, but his stubborn side kicks in and he runs to catch up to her.

"Ziva!"

She turns around and smiles, slowing down her pace so that he may fall into step with her.

"Hey," he says a little breathlessly.

"Hey," Ziva repeats. The word lingers for a moment in the air between them, a wisp of cloudy white present and then gone.

"Heading home?" he asks.

"Yes," she confirms. "It's…been a long day."

Something troubles her as she says this – and he can tell only because he has worked with her so long – learned her cues, the subtle inflections in her tone that betray her softness. But her surface smile is perfectly pleasant and somewhat final.

They stop walking; his car is to the left, hers to the right, and they must part ways now. She lingers, but only because he stands still facing her, making no motion to leave her. She crosses her arms, not aggressively but protectively, to aid against the cold.

He wants to say something to her. Something profound, something intelligent – something that communicates how much he secretly worried for her through Eli David's visit, how much he cares, how he saw her when her father left and that he's there for her if she never needs someone to, well, talk to about things.

But she is looking at him now and there are no words, really, for what he feels now, looking back at her. Staring at her, as he had in the office, wondering what it felt like to get under her skin.

So because she is a ninja who wouldn't appreciate his sentimentality, and he is an ex-cop who thinks about her a lot, he contents himself with a quietly uttered, "Good night," and a firm hand on her shoulder, which he hopes will communicate everything for him.

And then he walks away before she has time to make the situation more awkward than it already was – before she has time to look touched, because she is quite touched by the way he looked at her, sweetly, with genuine fondness. She can hear his steps against the ground, echoing faintly after him, and she listens until they fade into nothingness, until she can't see him anymore.

And she wonders, as she approaches her car and unlocks it, what _that _was all about.

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A/N: This is my second fic, so I'd prefer constructive tips to assist future success over spitting fire at my epic failures. Please be sure to review and leave me some feedback; I would really appreciate that. Thanks for reading!


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